Far From Beautiful
by Britton
Summary: A single word spoken in a moment of passion causes Warrick to reflect on stages of his childhood. Brief CW


**Far From Beautiful**

Rating: R

Pairing: C/W

Spoilers: Bully For You

Britton's notes: This is an angsty little piece based off something Warrick says in "Bully For You". Much of the backstory is either from episodes or the newly published _CSI Companion_. My humble opinion just filled in a few blanks.

* * *

"You are so beautiful."

He hears her whispered words just before her mouth descends, driving him to ecstacy and yet....

Beautiful....a word that doesn't ring true, stirs up old memories best left buried, causes him a momentary panic before he loses himself in what her mouth is doing to him. But even through the ecstacy, a nagging doubt....

And later, much later, when she's pressing against him, well content, her breathing soft and rhythmic, her sleep easy, the word comes back to haunt him. Beautiful...

There's a rational sliver of his brain that dismisses the word – he is utilitarian, workmanlike; women are beautiful.

Another part of his brain, a much deeper part, with older memories, quite hidden, stirs. Other words and phrases, etched during early childhood, surge forward, challenging this new adjective, holding it, beating it, trying to destroy it. Oreo, mongrel, half-breed, mutt....ugly...he didn't understand the slurs as a child, didn't understand what his green eyes meant to his peers. But he understood their anger, their contempt so he kept away, losing himself in the fantasy of books, in the love of his grandmother and aunt, who with skin a shade lighter than his, explained who his grandfather had been. It was the first time he became aware of race. Ashamed, he stayed small, silent and hidden - very far from beautiful.

Just as he had armored himself against the first slurs he heard, he was taunted by new ones. Shrimp, shorty, four-eyes, bookworm, nerd...ugly...he understood these words too much. He remembers enjoying that time when he was tucked away safely at home and he remembers the intense love and warmth of his grandmother and his aunt. He remembers doing his homework which he found too simple, a diversion more than a challenge. He remembers being further separated from his peers when he was placed in advanced classes, though these at least gave him a haven within the torture of school. He remembers latching onto his curiosity as a defense against the taunts, ignoring the cruel words and reading even more, expanding his knowledge, unaware that he was fueling his tormentors, confirming their ideals that he was anything and everything but beautiful.

Finally, his aunt had taken him to an acquaintance who ran a neighborhood rec center. It wasn't long before the other boys began the harsh taunts that were so destructive, even if they were only words: weakling, pussy, scrawny, sissy, bigfoot...ugly...he understood and worse, he accepted. But Mr. Phelps, his aunt's friend, was as compassionate as he was tough. He silenced the tormentors with a fierce look and sharp reprimand and he challenged his newest charge. Awkward and undersized, Phelps encouraged him to eat more, practice harder, and to read about the games – football, baseball, basketball. It was a turning point but despite how much he ate, how hard he worked, how much he read, he was still backward and very far from beautiful.

His indulgent grandmother referred to him as her work in progress and her work finally began to reap rewards in the summer before his final year of high school. He was six inches taller than he had been the year before and still growing. Often, his bones often ached from their rapid gains. His coordination had grown along with him and in baseball, he excelled at third base. His SAT scores were the highest in his school and his aunt and grandmother were ecstatic at the scholarship offers that began to fill the family's mailbox. During his senior year, minor league scouts were seen at the baseball games, sitting alongside the college scouts from the baseball powerhouses of Arizona, Stanford, Cal State Fullerton, and LSU. He no longer heard the words that made him feel awkward and unwanted....ugly...but after so many years, he felt them anyway. He remained quiet, a loner, isolated from his teammates and peers now by the attention he received from outsiders. He was many things but he was not beautiful.

He surprised them all when he chose to stay in Las Vegas. He surprised them and he disappointed them, all the scouts, the schools, the 'important' people. His aunt despaired, thinking he was giving up a chance to see the world, to escape from his childhood and start over. His teachers, coaches and colleagues were stunned and he heard an entire new set of words: stupid, arrogant, loser, wasted effort...ugly...and he could understand this time. But he had grown in more than stature; he had grown in confidence and he wasn't afraid of their words, not after all the years he had listened to them. When he thought of being parted from his grandmother, his heart ached. He could go to school in Las Vegas, stay close to home, get a good education and play baseball. He was practical, he was a realist; he knew he was still far from beautiful.

He studied chemistry and played third base. He visited his grandmother and aunt every weekend but as time went on he had to squeeze the visits in between an expanding social life. He felt alive at college. He began anew and he hadn't even had to leave his hometown. He worked to supplement his partial scholarship and learned what Las Vegas could do for him. Only occasionally did he hear the old taunts but he could easily deflect them now. With an adult's perspective, he knew that ugly was in the eye of the beholder and that he was far from ugly...he understood all that now. But he also believed that he was just as far from beautiful.

After college, he once again rejected offers from across the country and took a job with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He spent four years on the day shift before being promoted and sent to the night shift. His new boss reminded him of an old mentor and he worked as hard for Grissom as he had for Phelps. He enjoyed the quirky personalities of the night shift. It was rarely easy but it was never dull. He discovered conflicts could be loud and cantankerous but were seldom...ugly. And he still kept a close eye on his now elderly grandmother and nearly blind aunt. He remained reserved for the most part but on occasion he let his guard down. His sense of humor blossomed and he finally felt comfortable in his own skin.

And now, one of his coworkers has called him beautiful.

"What are you doing?" The sleepy, tousled red-head blinks solemn blue eyes at him.

He demurs, stretching his body out alongside hers. "Just thinking."

Catherine scratches her fingernails lightly across his chest and ribcage, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"You could be _doing_ rather than _thinking_," she teases, her eyes reflecting her desire for him. He turns toward her and kisses her softly, slowly, thoroughly. Maybe he isn't so far from beautiful after all.


End file.
